


(no place like) home

by hoppnhorn



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Farmer Billy Hargrove, M/M, Suicide Attempt, i dont know how else to explain this one, idiot men not recognizing when they're really mad in love with each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 22:40:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17989847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoppnhorn/pseuds/hoppnhorn
Summary: He knows he looks good. Peter used to tell him, with his hands all over Billy’s skin, howincrediblehe looked. How strong and sexy. But Peter left. And Billy knows better.Looks aren’t what keep people from leaving.“How long you staying in town?” He asks, stupidly, his head still thinking aboutPeterand remembering the way he’d packed up and vanished in a night. Steve isn’t Peter, though. Steve has family and friends and isn’thisto lose.Steve isn’t even his friend.





	(no place like) home

**Author's Note:**

> started this on tumblr and decided to expand on it based on some reaction tags. it might be explicit at some point, it might not. jury's out.

He sees Steve Harrington at the local hardware store, nearly six years after graduation and just  _ far _ too soon for his liking. 

If it were up to Billy, he’d never see Steve Harrington again. Then, maybe, he wouldn’t be reminded of the poison in his past. And he wouldn’t be faced with the haunting bruises all over the preppy guy’s face. From  _ Billy’s _ fists.

It’s been six years and he’s still not quite to the point where he can forgive himself for that, so he buys the box of nails he  _ needed _ and forgets to go searching for the bag of grass seed he’d  _ wanted _ and tries to escape before that big head of hair weaves back around to the checkout. 

And yet.

_ “Hargrove?” _

His face feels tight when he turns, offers a pathetic sort of  _ half _ smile and like, ducks his head. Like Steve’s royalty or something. Immediately he’s compensating, his old self heating up his blood, pushing his head back so he’s looking through his lashes when Steve Harrington walks up. Looking the same as always, like not a day had gone by. 

His hair is shorter, that’s about all Billy can figure. Sorter and styled like he’s been going to some expensive salon and having a woman named  _ Tiffany _ cut it dry so it has all that neat  _ texture _ everyone is talking about. His hair is trimmed neat around the ears, but still tall and ridiculous on top of his head. 

And Billy wants to give him shit for all that fluff. Wants to sink his fingers in it and feel it weave in between. 

“Steve.” Billy says, shorter than he’d intended and softer than necessary. Probably. But Steve doesn’t seem to notice. Or if he does, he’s not bothered by it. He grins, wide and pretty and a little too silly looking. It pulls at the edges of Billy’s mouth. Makes him want to return the ridiculous expression. 

Maybe lick his front teeth for good measure. 

“We’re on first names? Okay cool.” He pauses and Billy thinks maybe he should have just stuck to the status quo and said  _ Harrington _ like he would have  _ years _ ago and then Steve clears his throat. Puts on an even  _ dumber _ smile and says, “Hey, Billy. Long time no see.”

Like they’d been friends. 

Heat rises in Billy’s face, up his neck where he knows it’ll pink the skin despite the tan he still has going in late September. 

“Hey.” He replies. Then observes the few people who’ve slowed to watch them. Probably remembering that the Hargrove kid has a temper and the Harrington kid is maybe too preppy to remember that some dogs  _ bite _ . “Welcome back.” 

It feels  _ lame _ the second it’s out of his mouth, but Steve’s face goes rigid, like he’d been expecting something else and isn’t  _ prepared _ for something as simple as that. And then he laughs. Gently, at nothing in particular. And the sound tickles up Billy’s spine. 

“Thanks, man. It’s nice to be home.” 

_ Home _ . 

The word feels wrong in Billy’s ears but he smiles back as genuinely as he can, nods his head again like he’s forgotten how to just  _ say _ things without ducking away from them. 

“See you around, Harrington.”

The smile on Steve’s face is goofy again as he takes his bag, with his single box of nails, and heads to the exit. 

“Count on it, Hargrove.” 

  
  


He gets up before the sun most days, to check on the chickens, milk the cows. The air is wet that early in the morning, wet and cold and it  _ clings _ to bare skin. So he wears a flannel over his t-shirt, lets his hair hang down to cover the back of his neck. 

It’s not too hipster looking, he doesn’t think. He’s cut his hair back enough that it doesn’t really look  _ bad _ when it’s down. But the flannel and steel toed boots venture pretty close to lumberjack. 

And he’s always been partial to skinny jeans. 

So, yeah, maybe he’s a bit of a hipster, he thinks, sipping french press coffee as he watches the sun rise over the trees. But that’s not such a bad thing. It’s a little easier than the metal punk he was pulling off in high school. 

Walking around like he didn’t care about anyone or anything besides himself. Which was  _ true _ , then. Now? 

Now he has an entire world of things he cares about. People even, which is just  _ crazy _ . But it’s easier, somehow, than he’d imagined. After spending years of his life angry and alone, it’s easier to just be happy. 

To just, accept it all and move forward. 

  
  


It’s almost noon when he sees a car kicking up dust on the drive back to the house. When it gets close enough that he can see  _ what _ car is coming up the dirt road, his heart takes off his chest and he debates running inside, pretending he’s not home. 

But that’d be so fucking stupid, he’d never live it down. There’s fucking  _ tools _ all over his porch and at least three chickens following him around. 

There’s no hiding from Steve Harrington today. Just like yesterday. 

When he pulls up, his nice tires crunching on the loose gravel in his driveway, Billy picks up his t-shirt, debates tugging it on. But he settles for using it as a towel, wiping his face. It’s September, but it’s still warm and work heats his blood like he’s sitting in the California sun again. 

“Hi.” Steve offers when he stands from his BMW, eyes shifting all around to take in everything. And it’s a lot, Billy figures. A landscape he’d never imagined putting Billy Hargrove against. “Nice place.” 

It’s a  _ lie _ but it’s a polite one. 

“Thanks.” He tosses his shirt down, sees the way Steve’s eyes momentarily sweep over his bare chest before returning to the surroundings. “You come out here for a tour?” 

“I heard you needed temporary help.” Steve says. And immediately Billy is regretting the  _ one _ conversation he’d had with Claudia Henderson at the grocery store a  _ year _ ago. “Coincidentally, I need a  _ temporary _ job so I figured, I’d come see you.” 

“I don’t need help.” The words rush out of his mouth and he wishes he’d said it  _ nicer _ when Steve flinches. So he hedges, steps closer. “I just mean, I don’t need help  _ anymore _ .” 

“Oh.” The guy actually looks,  _ disappointed _ , patting the top of his car like he’d actually hoped the job for  _ Billy Hargrove _ would work out. Why, of all people, Steve wants to work for  _ him _ , is a mystery. 

One that Billy itches to know. 

“I had a storm put a tree through the barn a while back.” He offers, turning to walk around the side of the house. Steve follows, and holds his hand up in the sun so he can see the barn, a few hundred yards from the house. “I had a guy help me fix it up. But that was a long time ago.”

Peter. 

The last man in his employ and the last man in his bed. 

It doesn’t sting so much anymore, but even thinking his name makes Billy move on, physically and mentally. Plowing ahead. 

“I’m fixing up the front porch. It has some old rot that’s finally sagging.” He points and Steve follows, walks up the house to squint up at the roof. It’s nothing too ugly, but it’s enough that Billy got tired of looking it at. 

“You don’t need help with anything else?” Steve asks. “This is a big farm.” He waits and Billy knows he’s hoping for a story. 

How did Billy Hargrove wind up with one of the oldest and  _ largest _ farms in Hawkins?

A lot of people want to know that story. Only a select few do. 

“It keeps me busy.” Billy offers instead. 

“I can tell.” Steve says too readily. And suddenly Billy can feel his pulse in his neck, heavy in the heat. 

He knows he looks good. Peter used to tell him, with his hands all over Billy’s skin, how  _ incredible _ he looked. How strong and sexy. But Peter left. And Billy knows better. 

Looks aren’t what keep people from leaving. 

“How long you staying in town?” He asks, stupidly, his head still thinking about  _ Peter _ and remembering the way he’d packed up and vanished in a night. Steve isn’t Peter, though. Steve has family and friends and isn’t  _ his _ to lose. 

Steve isn’t even his friend. 

“Not sure.” He offers. Shrugging, like they’re eighteen again and don’t have to  _ worry  _ about that stuff yet. But they’re not eighteen. They’re creeping up on twenty-five and already their classmates are having babies. Getting married. Dying.

They’re  _ adults _ now. 

“I didn’t think you’d stick around.” Steve says abruptly, his eyes still squinty but his hands deep in his jean pockets. “Hawkins, I mean.”

“Yeah.” Billy wants to avoid those eyes, wants to look away and tell a story that isn’t  _ quite _ true but covers the bases. The one he tells everyone else. The  _ pretty _ version. “I hadn’t planned on sticking around.” He takes a breath, thinks, chewing on his lip as he stares at the edge of his east field. “But the first time I tried to kill myself, old man Leonard found me and threatened to tan my hide if I did it again.” 

The truth, ugly and raw, out in the open. And yet, it doesn’t sound as bad as he’d imagined. 

“Shit.” Steve breathes out, quiet but a  _ curse _ nonetheless. “Billy—” 

“That was a long time ago, don’t worry about it.” He smiles as easy as he can, the sun hot on his shoulders. “Totaled my car in the east field. He fished me out, sobered me up, and made me work for him all summer to pay for the damage.” Pointing, Billy singles out a spot of fence in the distance.

It looks exactly the same as the rest of it, now. But a few years ago, it’d been new and  _ bright _ against the beaten and worn. 

“I built the fence back up. Flatted out the crops. Replanted. After that, I just. Stayed.” Steve’s smiling when Billy looks back at him, his cheeks rosy from the sunshine. “Leonard sold me the farm three years ago.”

“Farmer Billy. Who’d have guessed  _ that _ ?” Steve says, with a big grin on his face. And Billy rolls his eyes. 

“It’s a living. And no one tells me…” He lets the thought trail away, all too aware of the last time he’d used those words with Steve Harrington. But Steve chuckles. 

“No one tells you what to do?” 

He’s only blushing a bit when he nods. 

  
  


That’s how it starts. 

Steve driving out to the farm. Saying hello. Coming in for coffee. Suddenly it’s not strange to see a BMW coming up the driveway. It’s not strange to hear Steve’s voice call out from the front of the house while he’s out back. 

The chickens follow Steve. The cows gather around when Steve is in the barn, hoping for a pat on the head or a kiss on the nose. Big, lumbering idiots, tripping over themselves to see Steve. 

Billy doesn’t blame them. 

When Steve drops by, the time seems to fly. They talk while Billy works and sometimes Steve helps. And sometimes they sit on the porch and drink a beer, shooting the shit like a couple of old friends. 

Which, weirdly enough, feels just about right. 

Like they’d always been good in high school. Like they’d never drawn blood in anger. 

They just talk. 

  
  


Then one night, Steve invites him out. Tells him there’s a couple of girls they’re going to meet up with, go dancing. And Billy doesn’t know how to say  _ no _ to Steve, so he says yes. 

And he pulls out his old showy clothes. His leather jacket and flashy earring. 

But he’s not showing off for  _ Lacy _ , the girl Steve had met working at the grocery in town. No, he’s ashamed of himself, wearing a tight, white t-shirt because  _ one time _ Steve had commented on how dark it made his tan look. And he’d got his hair down because Steve told him it looked good down. 

He’s very aware that the only person he wants looking at him is  _ Steve _ . But that’s a foolish thing to wish for, in more ways than one. 

Billy dances with Lacy for a couple of hours, puts on the charm, but isn’t  _ leading _ . And then politely walks her and her friend  _ Justine _ to their car. Steve sneaks Justine a kiss on the cheek but Billy simply tells Lacy it was nice to meet her. 

And it was. Nice. 

But he’s not going to dream of bouncy blonde hair and floral skirts when he sleeps tonight. He’ll dream of Steve in his tight, black jeans and blue t-shirt, his smile brighter than any star in the sky. 

That’s how it starts. That’s how Billy falls head over heels in love with Steve Harrington. 

His straight, best friend. 

  
  


“You’re nothing like you used to be.” Steve says one night. Billy has a fire going in the old house, the two of them half joking that maybe they’ll burn the place down, but really it just warms the whole room. Makes it feel so cozy and  _ safe _ , Billy knows why Leonard and his family lived there for generations. 

It’s a  _ home _ . 

And Steve only adds to that feeling. That facade of  _ togetherness _ that heats Billy down to his guts. Steve, in his house, drinking a mug of fucking  _ cocoa _ because he’s apparently  _ eight _ . It’s home. And it only suckers him in for more. 

Makes him stare a beat too long before Steve is snorting. 

“Earth to Hargrove?” 

“What?” He murmurs, feigns exhaustion with a  _ bad _ yawn as he sets down the half a beer he managed to drink. Weirdly, he doesn’t need it anymore. Not even on nights like this. “Sorry.” 

“I should go.” Steve says gently, pulling the quilt off his lap to clear the way to stand. But Billy holds out a hand.

“Finish your cocoa.” He says it like  _ please don’t go _ and Steve smiles at him. Sips it loudly like a  _ brat  _ and Billy grins. Soft, easy. 

“You’re gonna pass out in that chair, old man.” Steve says. “You work too hard.” 

And the sentiment in the words doesn’t go unnoticed. Steve has offered to help out numerous times. Offered to work for  _ free _ . But not because he wants to be around, no. Billy’s not that naive. He wants to help because he’s  _ kind _ . And he thinks Billy’s in over his head. 

Which he is. Somedays. 

But not because of the farm. 

“Builds character.” Billy mutters, settling into the overstuffed chair to wiggle his toes by the fire. “And if I’m old, what does that make you?” He shoots back with an arched brow. 

Steve sighs, sips his cocoa. 

“Wise.” 

“Yeah,  _ right _ .” Billy snorts, hurling a throw pillow at Steve head. It’s easily deflected. 

“Come on, at least think about bringing me on.” He says, gesturing with both hands. “I could help around the house and take some work off your hands.” 

“What, like you’d move in?” Billy says, a scoff in his voice, but Steve nods. Like he’s thought this over. 

Like he  _ wants _ this. 

“I’d take the guest room, help out in the mornings and after work. In return, you don’t charge me rent.” 

It takes Billy a solid minute to even  _ fathom _ a world where Steve calls the farm home. Comes  _ home _ to  _ him _ every night. 

“Of course I wouldn’t charge you rent.” He whispers. “You know you’re welcome here. But you know what people would  _ say _ right?”

And then his friend is  _ blushing _ . Maybe from the heat of the fire, or maybe because of the same reason Billy’s stomach is fluttering. “I mean, what’s wrong with—”

“I’m gay.” Billy states, clear and probably louder than necessary and Steve looks like a startled animal. Blinking at him with huge eyes. “Most of Hawkins figured it out when my last hand, Peter, stayed for almost six months and the barn was  _ long _ passed fixed.” He suddenly doesn’t want to be sitting, so he stands. Crosses his arms. “If you moved in—”

“So  _ what? _ ” Steve spits, before standing himself, and Billy wants to back away. Can’t look Steve in the eye when the implication is spelled out so  _ plainly _ . 

“They’d think we’re a couple.” He states, like it needs to be said. But Steve simply shrugs.

“So?”

“So, we’re not.” Billy huffs. “You’re dating that girl from the grocery and I don’t want to mess that up—”

“Becca?” Steve says, then laughs. “I haven’t seen Becca in weeks.” 

And, well. That makes sense. Steve is usually with Billy. At the farm. His heart leaps into his mouth and he swallows it down, tries to come up with another reason why this  _ isn’t _ a grand idea and only comes up with a dry mouth and high blood pressure. 

“I’m not worried about what people think.” Steve states. “Hell, they probably already think it.” 

“That doesn’t mean you should move in.” Billy blurts out, harsh. And Steve flinches. “Maybe it’s better that we just,  _ keep _ things the way they are.” 

“Why?” Steve flaps his arms like an agitated bird. Smacking his thighs. “Do you not want me here? Is that it?” 

“No, you’re always welcome, like I said—”

“Do you care what people  _ think _ ?” Steve asks, like he doesn’t already know that Billy couldn’t care less.

“No—”

“Then what’s the problem?” He pushes. And Billy breaks. 

Finally.

After months.

He splinters at the seams. 

“Because I  _ love _ you.” His voice cracks when he says it, the words so heavy in his mouth he struggles to get them out. It’s been a lifetime since he’s told anyone that. Felt it so deeply. 

Even Peter never earned the words. He’d come close, but never close enough. 

Steve, though. 

Steve had won him in days. 

“I love you too, man.” Steve awkwardly fumbles through the words and Billy’s gut rolls, nauseated with the placating echo and he snarls. 

God help him, he  _ growls _ . 

“Don’t  _ pretend _ you don’t understand.” He snaps, mean. Meaner than he’s been in a long time. “I’m not Nancy. I’m not some superficial  _ sleaze _ with your cock up my ass, telling you I love you.” His hands shake when he cards his fingers through his hair, trying to find  _ center _ . 

It’s been so long since he’s felt so off kilter. So long since Leonard had made him sleep in the barn when he showed up sloppy drunk for work. Since Peter had left. He’s not  _ unhinged _ anymore. 

Just afraid. 

“I’m  _ in love _ with you.” Billy finishes, at last. His heart in his hands as he stares at Steve’s pale face. His lost expression. “You’re my best friend and I don’t want to fuck that up. But having you living here, with how I feel….” He surrenders to the chair, leaning over to put his head in his hands. “It’d kill me.”

And for a long time, it’s quiet. Unnervingly quiet. Billy wonders if Steve’s waiting for a  _ gotcha! _ Or maybe he’s still blinking at him, trying to understand. 

“I should go.” Is what he finally says. Softly, like he’d intruded somehow. 

Billy doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t ask him to stay. Doesn’t apologize. 

He doesn’t even look up when Steve’s footsteps move away, the door opening and closing with quiet squeaks. Maybe that’s better than showing Steve the tears in his eyes, the absolute devastation on his face when he hears the BMW start and drive away. 

It’s better this way. 

That’s what he tells himself. 

It’s  _ easier _ . 

Alone again, and it’s fine. 

  
  


Hopper comes out to the farm once in a while, mostly because El likes the chickens. Even as a brooding teenager, she loves the goofy birds, petting their feathers and telling them stories. Billy doesn’t mind having her, likes the excuse to give away eggs for free. 

He’s got too fucking many of them. 

But when Hopper shows up without El, Billy momentarily thinks he’s in trouble. Like maybe he’d forgotten to pay some fee or renew some license. Something Leonard would have snorted about and told him to  _ get his head out of the hayloft _ . 

There’s no uniform when Hopper stands out of his truck, no solemn  _ police business _ about him when he walks up to the porch, so Billy simply holds out a mug of fresh coffee. Black. And Hopper grunts his appreciation. 

“You out of eggs yet?” He asks as the Chief takes a long sip and makes another noise of happiness. 

“Not yet. Plus, she’d kill me if she knew I came here without her.” 

“Then why are you here?” Billy blows right passed polite, a thing they both understand and respect in each other. Hopper nods, stares out at the ground as it fogs slightly with morning moisture. 

“I picked up Steve Harrington last night, have him in holding.” 

“Shit.” Billy mutters, rubbing a hand over his mouth. Over the month’s worth of beard that he’s just let grow because there’d been no one to see him. No one to tell him it looks  _ shitty _ . 

No  _ Steve _ . 

“Yeah,  _ shit _ . He started a fight at one of the local places. Yelling crazy things and swinging his fists.” Hopper sips for a moment, sighs. “No one hurt him, mind you. They just called me and now…” He turns his gaze on Billy, lets it pierce him to the bone. “I’m here to ask you what happened.” 

“I don’t—”

“You and Harrington were best buds and now he’s drunker than hell in my holding cell and you look like you lost your razor.” Then, to make it  _ worse _ , Hopper turns his whole body. Stares Billy in the  _ face _ when he asks again. “What. Happened.” 

Staring out across the yard, Billy wills the Chief to vanish. Wills the whole situation to go away. Wishes, with all his might, that he hadn’t seen Steve Harrington in the fucking  _ Home Depot _ all those months ago. 

“You know what? I don’t care what happened.” Hopper grunts, downs the last of the coffee. “What I want is for you two to fix it.” 

“It’s not—”

“I don’t care.” Hopper says, pushing an empty mug into Billy’s hand. “Fix it.” 

His boots on the porch steps are almost swallowed up by Billy’s heartbeat in his ears, pumping hard. 

“He won’t want to see me.” Billy calls after Hopper. And the guy barely pauses. 

“I expect you to come get him anyway.” 

  
  


Steve looks worse than Billy has ever seen him. And that’s  _ saying _ something. The deep shadows under his eyes. The scruff on his face. He looks like a man without peace and it’s unsettling on such a pretty face. 

Billy hates that it’s even an option for someone so good. So kind.

He hates that Steve doesn’t even look at him the entire time they drive out to the farm. Hates that there’s no question of where they’re going. Why. 

Steve just stares out the window and breathes. And Billy tries to figure out what he needs to say.  _ Fix it _ . As Hopper had said. But he’s not sure if this is something he can fix.

When he parks in the driveway, the sound of cows mooing settles in the silence. 

“I almost called you like, fifty times this last month.” Steve whispers. “ _ Billy would like this _ . And I’d get out my phone and I’d remember….” He rubs his hands on his face, the scruff  _ loud _ in the silent car. “I missed you.”

Billy’s chest feels  _ tight _ . So tight he’s pulling at the cuff of his right sleeve, fidgeting to find something to  _ do _ with his hands. 

“It’s not that I don’t want you around.” He starts quietly, staring up at the house. White siding, blue shutters. Just like Leonard’s wife liked it. Just how they left it. “I always want you around.”

“Billy—”

“Just, listen.” He tries not to wobble, his throat closing up on him as Steve sighs in his passenger’s seat. “I don’t want to lose you as a friend. Whatever I have to do to keep your friendship, I’ll do it.” It sounds so  _ stupid _ , so desperate. Like he’d lie down and let Steve walk all over him. 

Just to feel his touch. 

“You don’t need to do anything.” Steve says. 

He dares to glance over at his friend, get a direct look for the first time all morning. And the shock it sends through his system engulfs him. He’s beautiful, his Steve. Beautiful and sad and  _ tired _ , with eyes so worn down, Billy would swear it’s been longer than a month since they sat together.

Laughing. 

“Come on.” He says gently, pulling his keys out of the ignition. “I’ll make you breakfast. Then you can get cleaned up and I’ll take you home.” 

And it seems simple. Like falling back into a routine. But as they walk single file into the house, Steve catches his hand, tangles their fingers. 

Before he can whisper much more than  _ Steve _ , the man himself is backing him into the doorway of the house, taking his face in both hands, and kissing the words out of his mouth. Urgent, but sweetly. 

It’s too perfect, the way they fit together. Like Billy’s hands were made to fit on Steve’s hips, like their lips were crafted to lock in place. It takes the air out of them both, gasps filling the space when they part, but not for long. Never too long. Steve licks into his mouth and Billy melts to him, arms open. 

Too much like submission. 

“Will you tell me again?” Steve asks, pressing their foreheads together as they stand, nearly inside, but not quite. “Please.” 

And it might seem selfish, from someone else. But Billy knows how much Steve  _ needs _ to understand. To  _ know _ . He feels Steve tremble when he whispers, “I love you.” into his throat. He seals it with a kiss to his neck, another to his jaw. “I love you.” 

“ _ Billy _ .” Steve voice cracks under the strain. “I missed you.” 

“I’m right here.” He promises, tears in his eyes when he wraps his arms around Steve’s chest, holds him tight. Another kiss to his temple. In his hair. “I’m here.”

“I missed you. Fuck I  _ missed you _ .” Steve says, watery and gross into Billy’s shirt. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to say sorry.” 

“I was scared.” Steve relinquishes, eyes red and strained, and Billy brushes tears away with his thumb. “I was scared of….” He swallows, throat clicking, and Billy smiles. 

Because he  _ knows _ . 

“It’s okay.” He says kindly. “I get it.”


End file.
